


Love Comes In All (Lack Of) Colours

by Anonymous6285



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Crying, Hurt/Comfort, Suicide Attempt, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25758868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous6285/pseuds/Anonymous6285
Summary: When your soulmate dies, you see black and white.John Lennon is having a hard time accepting that.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Love Comes In All (Lack Of) Colours

**Author's Note:**

> CW: This story does have brief descriptions of a suicide attempt, so if that's hard for you to read, you may not want to. Be safe <3

It was an average morning for Paul as he made his tea and started on his way back to the room he shared with John. He’d made it a habit to wake up his boyfriend every day with his gentle touch on his face, and supply him with a hot cuppa to counter his grumpiness. And after two years, it had yet to let him down.

He didn’t think today would be any different. Of course, he really had no reason to, being it just a Tuesday sometime in August. So he set down the cup on the table next to the bed before climbing in and wrapping his arms around John.

“John,” he whispered. “Love, it’s time to get up. I’ve got you tea.” John groaned, rolling over to face Paul, his eyes still not open. So Paul just cradled his face. “Love…”

“I don’t want to!”

“Your loss,” Paul chuckled, getting back out of the bed. “It’ll get cold if you’re not up soon. And I was hoping we could have a bit of fun today.”

He couldn’t help but smile at the way John’s still asleep face lit up at what he was implying. “Alright, fine.” He sat up in the bed, eyes flying open, and as soon as they did, everything changed.

Paul saw his body freeze, his mouth open just enough so that he could continue to breathe, and his face went pale. But John saw something completely different.

He saw the grey wall, a wall that was once bright blue, the sheets on his bed, but the colour had drained from them. And when he glanced at Paul, he no longer saw the rosy red cheeks, the bright green eyes… 

This couldn’t be happening. Paul was right there! He wasn’t dead! Why was everything--?

“John?” The man’s voice was loud enough to pull him out of his thoughts, but not out of the reality of the situation. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s…” No more words came out before he sobbed, his back slouching as he fell forward into his own lap, and Paul was next to him in seconds.

“John!” His voice had gotten no scarier, just louder. John could feel his warm hands all over his body, his living hands, still there. Was this better or worse than the alternative? He tried to open his mouth and explain what was going on, but all he could do was mumble. “What’s wrong, love? What’s going on?”

He still couldn’t say a thing, but he knew he wouldn’t have to explain it much. From the time you’re a kid, everybody learns what it means. It becomes ingrained in your mind that as soon as the world goes grey, your soulmate is dead.

“John, please just tell me--”

“It wasn’t you!” He pushed Paul off of the bed, and the man, whose feet were still tucked underneath him, fell with a loud thud. He could no longer feel his ankle, but John didn’t care one bit. He kept glancing around himself at this newfound world, the fact that his soulmate was gone. And he would never have the chance to ever meet them. 

“John!” Paul started to get up, but the older man was faster. He flew from the bed and out of the room, his feet smacking against the floor as he fought for privacy. He had only just made it to the bathroom, reaching already for the razor on the counter, by the time Paul was up and after him. 

The cold tile ground didn’t even register in his mind at all, and neither did the frantic rattling of the door knob. His soulmate was gone, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. 

They’d talked about this as kids. John could still hear the voice of Pete Shotton laughing at George, whose soulmate died when he was just a kid, telling him he would never ever be happy. 

He remembered Pete asking him what he would do if one day he woke up, and everything was grey. “I’d probably kill myself,” he joked, but now it didn’t seem so funny. He’d looked George right in the eyes. “Nobody to miss me when I’m gone, yeah?”

And only now did he understand how wrong that was. Only now when all he could think about was what he’d missed, not what he already had. He started to pull apart the blade from its plastic shell. 

“Nobody to miss you when you’re gone,” Pete laughed back. And he was right. When he died, nobody’s vision would go grey. Nobody would mourn him quite as much as he would this person he’d never met. 

Without a second’s hesitation, he took his shiny blade and pushed it deep into his wrist, crying out at the pain. What dripped out of him was not the red blood he remembered. It was grey, like everything else. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see anything without colour ever again. 

“John!”

He looked back down at his wrist, and realised the gravity of what he was doing. He loved Paul, had for a very long time, and he’d be ruining that. 

“I think I love you, John,” Paul has said one night, laying in bed next to his lover, a smile on his face. 

“I think I love you, too. But what if—“

“John,” Paul warned, knowing exactly where he was going with this. “I don’t care if you’re not my soulmate. We don’t have to be destined to love each other.”

It seemed such a far concept. That isn’t what you learned when you were little. Your soulmate was the only purpose in life. Finding your true love, thousands of miles apart. The thought that you didn’t even need that, it seemed impossible. 

The door handle rattled again. “John! Are you okay? Open the door!!” John pulled the blade out of his wrist and sobbed at the sting that ran up his arm. “John!” How was he supposed to explain this to Paul? Maybe he could pretend it had never even happened. Maybe if he didn’t tell Paul his world was grey, he wouldn’t have to crush the man’s dreams. 

“I’m f-fine,” he lied right through the door, just in time for him to hear the lock start to undo, and his brain went right back to that day with Pete and George. 

Paul had been there, too, laughing after the fact that they were even having that discussion. “John, if you ever go black and white, don’t kill yourself.”

“Why not?” At this point, the joke was starting to become a bit over exaggerated, but Paul wasn’t going to let that happen. 

“Just come tell me, yeah? Wherever I may be. And I’ll go tell you if I ever do.” John said nothing, staring at him. “I don’t like the idea of you being so sad all alone.” 

The door slammed open, and John was left sitting embarrassingly next to the tub, grey blood dripping out of his arm, and the bassist seemed to notice, too. 

“John…” John started to mumble out apologies, but Paul was much too focused on grabbing the towel off of the counter and dabbing at his boyfriend’s wrist as tears started to fall down his nose. “Oh, my god. What happened, love?”

He was acting as if he didn’t see the blade in John’s right hand. Maybe there was a chance he would still confess what was wrong. He didn’t want to humiliate him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Macca. I did it.”

Paul continued to dab at the wound on his wrist. “Why?” he asked in the softest voice he could, but John only shook his head. “John…?”

“It’s just… what if you weren’t my soulmate?” Paul seemed taken aback, opening his mouth, but nothing came out. “Would you want to leave me to go find yours?”

“Wh… no, of course not! I love you, and only you.” He let the towel in his hand loosen and fall off the older man’s arm. It was only then he realised, and he picked it back up, gently pulling John’s chin up to look at it. “Johnny, what colour is this?” His voice was nervous, because he knew what was coming.

John knew that he couldn’t screw this up, or Paul might leave. If he knew he still had a soulmate out there… 

He looked at the way the blood on it almost blended right into the grey, so he figured it must be red, right? Or maybe blue… His hesitation only made this more suspicious. “John?” 

“Red,” he said quickly and confidently, but as soon as he saw Paul’s eyes widen, he knew he made a mistake. 

“Oh, God… John, I’m so sorry…” The hug that came next wasn’t one he was expecting. The warmth… again. It was something he would never feel from his true soulmate. 

“Do you… do you know what it’s like to miss someone you’ve never even met?” His voice was sniffly, but he had no problems talking. 

“I don’t,” Paul admitted. “I might one day, though.”

“But it’s not me, love. Don’t you want to go find who it is?” 

Paul sighed, sitting down next to John. “I don’t care, really. You’re sweet and funny. You’re the best boyfriend I could ever have. That’s what makes a soulmate, yeah?”

He remembered George saying something similar about Ringo. The two were best friends, and despite the fact that George hadn’t seen colour in fifteen years, Ringo was still always there for him. 

“I love you so much,” John whispered. “I’m so sorry. I promised you I wouldn’t do this—“

“You didn’t. You stopped yourself.”

“You stopped me!” Paul smiled. “What?”

“If I saved you… is that enough to make me your soulmate?” John laughed, leaning into him. 

“Would you help me fix up my arm?” A nod. “Then yes, you’re the perfect soulmate.” He leaned in to kiss Paul on the lips before leaning back into his chest and sobbing. He felt the other man’s hands rubbing his back up and down. Paul really was his true soulmate.


End file.
